


Sehnsucht

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Drabble Collection, Drug Use, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-11-26
Updated: 2012-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-19 14:29:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/574261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love is both more painful and more addicting than any drug.</p><p>A Johnlock drabble series</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Destroyer

I will utterly destroy you, don’t you realize that?

Don’t trust me, don’t ever trust me, because I wreck everything I touch. I leave a trail of destruction in my wake and I do not care who is caught in it.

I will take everything you have to give and everything you don’t and I will take and take and take until there is nothing left but a husk.

Your end will be my doing, and I will not feel a shred of guilt over it.

“You’ve been staring at the ceiling for some time now. Thinking about the case?”

“Yes,” he lies.

“Don’t strain yourself too hard. You’ll solve it like you always do.”

John leaves an overly sweetened, milky cup of tea on the coffee table and exits the room.

Sherlock digs his fingertips into the fabric of his shirt as something in his chest throbs and ignites sharp, burning pain throughout his body and he wonders if John will be the one to destroy him first.


	2. Nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He doesn't need to know.

“And there’s the freak, doctor in tow.”

“I don’t know how Watson puts up with him. Must be a helluva good shag.”

For the most part, they ignore Anderson and Donovan and their petty jabs, with the exception of a quick glare from John.

Lestrade is standing near, pursing his lips. He excuses himself to John, who nods thoughtfully, and pulls Sherlock aside.

“You know you don’t have to let them say those things about you and John,” Lestrade says in genuine concern, bless his foolish heart, “I’ve seen you tear them down for less.” And allow me a free slide every time, Sherlock thinks, because I am always right.

“I don’t care what they have to say about mine and John’s relationship,” he sneers at Lestrade, who watches him with learned patience, “our partnership is entirely professional.” He doesn’t realize how forceful and wrong the words sound until it’s too late to stop them.

For all this shortcomings, and there are many, Lestrade sees. He knows Sherlock, not as well as John does, but he knows. He’s seen him at his worst and in the clutches of a drug addiction, and he’s seen him at his best and solving cold cases that have stumped every officer before Lestrade. He knows Sherlock, and he knows exactly what line he’s crossing when he asks in a low voice, “Is there really nothing going on there?”

“There is nothing more to discuss on the matter,” Sherlock snaps, “John isn’t gay and nothing will ever happen to exceed the boundaries that our friendship has put in place.”

He hears Lestrade breathe, “Sherlock, you-” but he’s already storming away, fury and pain rattling inside of his ribcage.


	3. Poison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He has no right to stop me.

Sherlock relapses.

Or, really, he tries his damnedest to relapse and finds himself unable to because his dear flatmate cares too much and has restricted, if not entirely cut off, his access to vice.

He tears apart the flat and swears and flips John’s chair on its side.

He wants to hate John.

Wants to scream at him to leave because no one will ever get away with keeping his drugs and cigarettes from him— just ask Mycroft how his efforts went and the outcome of his pathetic interference— and he has nothing left to soothe the pain because of one stupid man and his idiotic, misplaced concerns.

Sherlock wants to hate him.

John comes home two hours later, tosses a duvet over Sherlock’s shoulders where he’s curled up on the sofa, and leaves him a plate of small sandwiches.

Sherlock chokes on a silent sob because the fight is being strangled out of him by what he thinks might be love.


End file.
